


The winter winds are colder on my own

by chaoticdean



Series: SPN season 15 drabbles and codas [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dean Winchester Being an Idiot, Destiel - Freeform, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Supernatural s15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21925951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticdean/pseuds/chaoticdean
Summary: Dean's felt miserable before, but it's nothing compared to how miserable he feels since Castiel has left the bunker a month ago. When they get home from a long hunt over in Chicago, he gets himself caught in a conversation he's been wanting to avoid for weeks.Set in-between episodes 15x03 and 15x09.Title is from "Nervous" by Gavin James [x]
Relationships: Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: SPN season 15 drabbles and codas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1609879
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	The winter winds are colder on my own

**Author's Note:**

> I might write the rest of this if you guys want me to, please let me know in the comments!

It’s late at night and Dean can’t sleep. He would say it’s unusual, but the truth is it’s not. They just got home after spending about a month or so away on different hunts over in Michigan. Per usual, his room is a big, gigantic mess. He’d pride himself about having a fetish for his record collection being classified and neatly organized, but that’s about it when it comes to his stuff being tied up. The rest of the room is a mess, a couple of flannels have been thrown out on his chair behind his desk, a few pair of jeans lie on the floor and lots of beer bottles (empty for the most part, or drunkenly forgotten) could be found in different parts of the room.

Dean was happy to be back for a little while, after having spent so much of his life not belonging anywhere he truly felt at home here in the bunker for the first time in at least two decades.

But yeah, he still couldn’t sleep, mostly because his mind was still fixed on his recent struggles with Castiel.

Dean kept calling them “struggles” whenever someone called out on the absence of his angel friend by his sides, but he knew damn well they were more than just struggles to say the least. Struggles wouldn’t have left him sleepless most of the nights this past month, he ain’t kidding anyone with make-believe.

It hurts. More than he can comprehend. He still can’t really put words into it, let alone on **why it hurts so goddamn much.**

 _“Fuck it. I don’t need him. I don’t **need him**!”_ Dean mumbles, reaching out above his head to reach his beer bottle.

If only alcohol could numb his pain and take it away… Unfortunately, that didn’t do the trick anymore. Dean got up on his feet and dragged his ass to the library, his beer bottle in one hand.

It’s past midnight, but apparently Sam can’t sleep either.

 _“Hey! What are you doing up?”_ Dean asked his brother, sitting upon a chair facing him. Sam was reading a book, a beer half-drank in front of him, still wearing his day clothes.

 _“I could ask you the same thing. What’s up with you, you’ve been in your room since we got here and you look even more like crap now than you did all week?”_ Sam frowned at his brother, a mischievous grin on his face.

 _“I look like crap 100% of the time, Sammy. What’s your smart-aleck reply to that?”_

He bottomed-up the rest of his beer and got up only to get himself a glass of whiskey. When he sat back in front of Sam, it only took him seconds to catch his brother’s worried look before he looked away.

_“What?”_

_“Nothing.”_

_“Sam. Spit it out. It’s 1 am, I don’t have time for mind games and pretends.”_ Dean said firmly, although with a sad ton inside his voice.

There was a beat in the room, as Sam seemed to hesitate. Dean fixed his eyes inside his baby brother’s, prompting him to say what he had to say.

 _“I’m just… wondering if your recent drinking habits and fucked up sleep schedule, as well as your moodiness, have anything to do with what has been going on with Cass. And quite frankly, it’s starting to piss me off a little, Dean.”_ Sam finally said.

What could he say now? That it hurts so much that he can’t talk about it without wanting to bang his head against a wall?

 _“I don’t want to talk about it, Sam.”_ he finally says, his eyes thoroughly examining the bottom of his glass of whiskey.

 _“Of course you don’t. But you know what — I don’t care about what you wanna talk about right now. It’s eating you alive and I’m sick of it. Just spit it out for God’s sake!”_ Sam snapped.

_“I love him.”_

There. He said it. It wasn’t that hard to get out, in fact, way easier than he thought. But now he wished he could crawl into a hole for eternity.

He finally found the strength to meet Sam’s eyes, and much to his surprise realized they were full of joy.

 _“Finally,”_ Sam said, smiling at his brother.

_“What do you mean, “finally”? Did you knew?”_

_“All along. I’ve been waiting for you for so long, brother.”_

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He had been keeping this inside of him for so long, sometimes covering it up in hate, pain, and misery because he couldn’t bring himself up to get it out in the open.

Sam got up and poured himself a glass. He leaned against the wall, facing his brother while sipping his whiskey.

 _“So what are you gonna do about it, then?”_ he inquired, watching his brother’s reactions

_“Nothing. What do you want me to do, Sam?”_

_“Tell him!”_

Ah, yes. If only that was this simple. He pursed his lips and bottomed-up his drink, already aiming for the bottle when Sam caught his arm.

_“What? I’m not allowed to drink now? Do you know how old I am?”_

_“Dean. Stop drinking, we’re having a serious conversation right now.”_

_“I’m too old for you to stop me from drowning my sorrows into alcohol, Sammy. Pass me that bottle, will you?”_ Dean said, a mischievous but sad smile on his face.

Sam sighed loudly but ultimately handed him that bottle, letting his brother refilling his glass with another round of whiskey, but still not losing his judgmental look. Dean fired back with his usual smart-ass look.

 _“What? Are we having an intervention now? What is this, I’m not allowed to drink anymore. I’m freaking forty Sammy, you can’t strip alcohol from me.”_ he said with a laugh.

_“Don’t drift away from the subject. Why aren’t you telling him how you feel?”_

_“Ah, yes. What a lovely idea for me to feel miserable.”_

_“Why the hell would you be miserable?”_

_“There’s no way in hell this works, Sam.”_

_“Why the hell not?”_

He truly has no idea, Dean thinks to himself. There’s no way Castiel shares his feelings. He’s an angel, he doesn’t have human feelings, let alone love for someone like Dean — damaged, fucked up, borderline alcoholic and full-on piece of shit. He smirked at his drink, well aware of his brother’s gaze on him.

_“Dean, seriously. Don’t you realize how much love Cass does have for you?”_

_“What do you mean?”_ Dean answers, his heart missing a beating or two.

_“Why do you think he left?”_

_“Because I pushed him away, because of what happened to Mom, to Jack.”_

_“He left because he couldn’t stand you hating him Dean.”_

There’s a silent void filling the room for a minute. Dean tries to acknowledge everything he’s heard and then breaks it again.

_“I don’t hate him. I just —“_

_“Of course you don’t. But he thought you did. And he got tired of always waiting for you to see what’s been under your nose for a decade, Dean. He also got tired of you treating him like shit, for a lack of a better word. So if you do love him, call him. Tell him. Before it’s too late and you only have regrets to get back to.”_ Sam said in one breathe.

 _“How the hell do you know all that?”_ Dean answered him, clearly and utterly shocked.

_“He’s my friend. We talk.”_

There’s another giant silence in the room.

 _“What am I supposed to say to him, Sammy?”_ Dean finally said after a few minutes. _“That my heart aches when he’s not here? That I’m afraid he might never come back when he gets away from here? I’m just a stupid, senseless son of a bitch who’s only talent is to get people he cares about hurt or worse — killed.”_

_“You can’t think like that. And for what it’s worth, you’re not senseless, neither stupid. At what point are you going to stop demeaning yourself, Dean?”_

_“Probably never.”_ Dean scoffed, bottoming-up his drink once again. This time he gets up with the firm intention to go back into his quarters and drink his misery away some more. But Sam calls him out again.

_“Please, tell him. For both your sake. What do you have to lose? You’re already miserable anyway.”_

_“Thanks, Sam. Appreciate that.”_

_“I’m serious. Just man up and tell him how you feel.”_

_“Yeah yeah. Goodnight, Sammy.”_ Dean fires back, slamming his empty glass on the counter before leaving the library and his brother behind.

His head hurt as he walks back to his room, but he doesn’t know if it’s from the whiskey or the conversation he had.

He cannot believe he let it slip. Yet Sam didn’t even seem surprised. What if Castiel really shared his feelings after all? Would it be so bad for him to tell him how he really feels toward him? Sam’s right, right now he doesn’t have anything to lose. He sits on his bed, takes his head between his hand and breath-in.

_“Castiel. Please, come home. We need to talk.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Please leave kudos and comment :)
> 
> Twitter/Tumblr/Insta : @HitTheRoadJus


End file.
